Mushaboom • Daryl Dixon

22

Rachel

Daryl hadn't called.. Two hours past since he got off work and I was expecting to hear from him. I finally got a call. But it wasn't Daryl on the other end of the line. It was Will.

As soon as he spoke I froze, fearing the worst, but he managed to slur out that Daryl was home and he was hurt. He was drunk and sounded worried which worried me even more.

"What happened?"

He sounded like a kid, "Well- he's just hurt. He's hurt an-and I need yer help."

"What happened Will?" My voice was stern and cold. My patience was running thin.

"Please, Rachel. I-I messed up. I can't help him. I- he needs you to g-get him to a hospital or somethin'."

I hung up. I told my mom that I was gonna pick Daryl up and raced over to his home.
I ran up to the door and pounded, waiting for someone to answer. I went to open it myself but I was locked. Seconds later, Will opened the door. His head was glued to the ground of out shame. He backed up and I walked right on in. I stepped on pieces of glass and saw blood tricked along the carpet. I heard the door shut as I spotted Daryl by the kitchen counter, on the floor. I was instantly by his side as he laid there, looking lifeless. I took in a deep breath.

"Will, where is he-" I looked up to find that Daryl and I were alone. Will left. Coward.

I looked to Daryl and got up to turn on the nearest light. It wasn't much, they had poor lighting in the home. I went back to his side and checked his head.

The sight of his head alone made my eyes water, anger rushed through my body. He had a gash at his cheek and temple, and blood ran down from his hair line, to his nose and mouth. His breaths were short and shallow. I looked over to the rest of his body. His light gray tshirt was stained red and ripped on his lower back. I carefully lifted up the end of his shirt and a cry escaped me.

He had pieces of glass sticking out of his back, most small, but there were two thicker pieces. One of the larger ones looked like it was deep.

I froze. I didn't know what to do and my hands were trembling. I ran to the sink and wet a towel with warm water. I continued to cry. He didn't deserve this, this life. It wasn't fair; I was angry.

I dabbed the towel near his eye and nose, wiping the blood away. My eyes traveled to the pieces of glass stuck in his back. I shuddered, I wasn't sure what to do. I felt he'd never forgive me for taking him to the hospital or getting help, but this was one of the worst cases. The last time I had to help him like this was when Will beat him with his belt. He had welts and gashes all on his back, three of them scarred. But that was maybe five years ago.

I brought the towel to his back and wiped away any blood I could without touching any of the punctures. I wiped my nose on my arm, tears kept falling as I sniffled like a mess. This was too much.

I got up and got a bowl from the kitchen and rinsed the towel. I wrung out the towel and watched as a light pink color flowed down the drain. I ran to the bathroom and found some tweezers in a drawer. I couldn't find any peroxide, so I ran back to the kitchen and poured whisky, hoping for that to sterilize the tweezers. I brought everything back over to Daryl and knelt down next to him. I lifted up the shirt and took in another deep breath.